


Closure is a state of mind

by Quicksilvermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not Drarry), Bittersweet Ending, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Character Death, Concealed Identity, Death of a Spouse, Disfigurement, Drinking, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, First Time, Guilt, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Inappropriate medical/therapist relationships, Lies, Loneliness, M/M, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Polyjuice Potion, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex While Using Polyjuice Potion, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Voyeurism, low key stalking behaviour, pensieve sex, taking advantage of a grieving person, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/pseuds/Quicksilvermaid
Summary: After Harry's husband Charlie is killed, his Mind Healer recommends a Polyjuice therapy company, so Harry can see 'Charlie' again and find closure over his death.Draco, whose life over the last ten years has gone from bad to worse, gets assigned Potter's case.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 45
Kudos: 210
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	Closure is a state of mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elle Gray (Elle_Gray)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Gray/gifts).



> Elle, your prompts are, as always, divine. My responses are, as usual, written more for me than you, but I hope you like it anyway <3
> 
> Thank you so much to Tackytiger for listening to me flop about so much, Elle for poking at me and especially Nerdherderette who helped me figure this bloody thing out after I gave up on it.
> 
> I finally found my Draco, and I like how he came out in the end.
> 
> Thank you to the mods for making space for stories like these <3

Draco considered the assignment on the table in front of him. There was a part of him that thought he should tuck the file, the lock of red hair, and the memories into their case and send them back. A bitter smile curled across his mouth, twisting the ropey scar tissue that cut through his face, pulling at the skin with a pain he learned to ignore a long time ago.

He had no choice in the cases he was given. Rosa made that clear when she first took him on. _'I'm only doing this because I'm sick of them. The abuse cases. The death cases. You'll take what you're given and be happy about it. You hear me?'_

Draco had heard her, loud and clear, and then he had reached with both hands for the chance to escape his damaged prison of a body. Even a few hours in someone else's form was a relief so complete he thought he could die from it.

He looked back down at the assignment. The top of the file read _James Evans_ , but it was Potter. He knew it was. He knew everything about Potter. He'd kept up with the Golden Boy, through all his golden years after the war. Through his rise and rise while Draco sank lower and lower into the muck.

The fact that 'James Evans' was written on the file was the only reason Rosa had sent it down to him. The old bitch would have jumped at the chance to get Harry Potter in her claws. Anyone would have.

Draco frowned at the file, suspicion creeping through him. What was Potter doing going to a Knockturn hack to work out his bullshit, anyway? He should've been able to buy the best therapy and 'adjustment support' available.

Did he know Draco worked here? Was this a new attempt to catch him in some nefarious deed, to get him sent back to Azkaban, _'Where scum like you belong, Malfoy.'_

Draco had read about what happened to Potter's husband—crushed to death by a dragon six months ago. It was all over the papers for weeks. Potter had disappeared after the funeral and his spectacular breakdown at the cemetery. There hadn't been a single sighting or interview since. That hadn't stopped the reporting, of course. The most popular theory was that Potter had abandoned the cottage where he'd lived in marital bliss and was holed up in the old Black house instead, though it was under a _Fidelius_ Charm so no one could actually verify that.

Draco pulled himself back to the present. Potter couldn't know Draco worked at Simulacrum. No one did. And once Draco took his Polyjuice, Potter wouldn't have a clue as to who animated Charlie Weasley's body. That idea that he would be completely safe from discovery if he did this was what made up his mind.

Draco scribbled an acceptance back to Susan Jeffries, the Mind Healer who, speaking of hacks, had sent Potter's file. When he was done, he looked back down at the case, at the bottled memories and lock of hair. He was going to do this. He was going to have Potter's heart and soul bared before him. The thought sent a shiver through him—Potter's eyes on him, his whole attention on Draco. The idea burrowed deep inside him, touching on an emotion he'd thought long dead. 

Potter rejected him, he reminded himself with a grimace, time and again. Potter could have spoken for him at his trial. Potter could have given him a hand out of the darkness when he was finally released from the hell pit known as Azkaban. Potter could have done _anything_ to help Draco salvage a scrap of his reputation and a chance at a new life. Instead, he sealed Draco's fate with a fist to his face in front of a crowd of hundreds. 

It was Potter's turn to be weak in front of Draco. And Draco—well, if he happened to learn things that he could use to blackmail Potter and find himself something better in life—that's just what Potter owed him, really.

His heartbeat sped up as he considered what he needed to do. He had three days to get ready. Three days to immerse himself in Potter's memories. Three days to learn how to imitate Potter's dead husband, down to the smallest detail. 

He picked up the first vial of memories with fingers that only shook a little and considered the Pensieve sitting on the bench in front of him. As he thought about speaking to Potter, of touching him, Draco felt an old anger swirl through him, mixed with a hint of the fascination he'd never quite managed to let go of. 

He turned the vial in his hand to read the label. It was marked _'First date with Charlie'_ in Potter's messy scrawl. Draco scowled at the writing before he took a deep, calming breath, and poured the memory into the Pensieve in a smoky stream.

~

Potter looked like shit when he walked through the door. His shoulders were hunched, there were deep circles under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days. It'd been almost two years since Draco had seen him this close, and he had looked totally different then. He'd been standing over Draco, his wand drawn, fury in his face as he directed a stunner at Draco's chest.  
  
Fucking Potter. Yes, Draco had been quite drunk, and yes, he had been screaming at Potter about how everything that had gone wrong since the war could be laid at Potter's feet. But he couldn't really be blamed for that. The anniversary of his mother's murder always sent Draco a bit off the rails.

There was something satisfying in seeing Potter laid low like this, brought down from his shining tower. Draco channelled that satisfaction as he took a step forward.

'Hey babe,' Draco said, his voice coming out in Charlie Weasley's smooth rumble. He'd practiced mimicking the tone and depth until he got it exactly right, just like he'd meticulously chosen the cargos, heavy boots and tight black t-shirt from the dressing rooms to match Charlie's style. Draco had always had an eye for detail. It was one of the few things Rosa had praised him for as she trained him to be anyone but himself.

Potter looked up at the sound of Draco's greeting, seemingly unable to help the hope that flared across his face, the transparent joy that bloomed in his eyes as he saw his dead husband standing in front of him. Potter took a step forward and then hesitated, his hope dimming. Draco knew that look. He saw it in the eyes of every client he had. It was the moment where they reminded themselves that the vision they were seeing was a lie. That the person standing in front of them was part of their therapy program, paid to imitate their loved one or their enemy, paid to help them find closure or stand up to their abuser.

The moment always came, but Draco was exceptionally good at making people forget that he was a lie. He sometimes thought that the few hours a day during which he could pretend he was someone other than Draco Malfoy were probably the only reason he was still alive.

He opened his arms and smiled Charlie's crooked, half-smile, the one Potter couldn't resist melting at the sight of in every one of his memories.

Potter hesitated a moment longer, but Draco could see how torn he was. Every line of his body was filled with a yearning desperation. A part of Draco wanted to laugh, wanted to shout at Potter, _See! THIS is how life really is. There is no happiness. There's just survival, and you're a fool for thinking you know any better._ But he didn't. He needed Potter to trust him, needed Potter to open up to him, if he was going to get anything useful out of him.

'I missed you,' Draco said in that same gravelly rumble. His arms were still open but dropping slowly, as if uncertain of his welcome. It wasn't hard to fake; Potter had rejected him so many times, he'd lost count. He knew the feeling of it down to his bones. He let the familiar ache suffuse him, showing it in a way he could never let Potter see on his own face.

Draco saw the moment Potter caved and gave into the fantasy. His eyes filled with tears and he took three fast steps forward, wrapping his arms around Charlie's barrel chest and gripping him tightly. Draco folded his own arms around Potter's shoulders and held him close as he began to cry. Draco thought back to the memories of Charlie's reactions in moments like this. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek softly against the messy tangle of Potter's hair, breathing in slowly.

Potter's hair smelled unwashed. Draco frowned and pulled back slightly; he clearly hadn't been taking care of himself. Draco stroked a hand slowly down Potter's back as he considered this information. Potter held him tighter, rubbing his snotty nose against Draco's t-shirt. He stroked Potter's back again and wondered if Charlie would _Scourgify_ the mess, or leave it. A review of the memories and the various substances Charlie was often covered in meant the snot probably had to stay in place. Draco's frown deepened in distaste.

He let Potter cry, hushing and patting him until the wrenching sobs turned to sniffles. Potter began to pull back, pushing his glasses up and wiping his red, swollen eyes. He looked faintly embarrassed. Based on what Potter had shared with him and what Draco knew of the man, he thought Potter probably didn't show emotion like that to others very often. He took a second to guess what reaction would feel most natural from Charlie, and what would put Potter most at ease.

'Missed me that much?' Draco asked, his tone light and mouth forming that crooked smile again.

Potter half-laughed, and Draco knew he'd guessed right. Charlie had helped Potter avoid his emotions when they got too intense for him.

'You have no idea,' Potter said, and his voice was thick with grief still. Potter paused for a moment after he spoke and Draco could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, see the moment when he started to remember that the person standing in front of him really _didn't_ have any idea just how much he missed his husband, because the person standing in front of him was a lie.

'Want a beer?' Draco said instead, gesturing to the couch behind him and the door that led to the kitchen. 

Potter's eyes widened as he took in the room, and Draco realised he'd been completely focused on seeing Charlie and hadn't even noticed where he was. Draco had used a mixture of furniture from Simulacrum's storage warehouse and layers of glamour to recreate the living room and kitchen of the house Potter and his husband had shared. It was perfect, down to the smallest details like the piles of clutter on the mantle and the coats hanging on the rack. Sadness flashed, mercurial, across Potter's face and then he seemed to set it aside, letting his shoulders relax.

Draco felt the warmth of satisfaction as Potter let himself step a little further into the fantasy. He wouldn't have thought it would be so easy to gain Potter's trust. He held back a laugh as he considered that maybe he should have just stolen a Weasley's identity all those years ago.

'Sure,' Potter said, breaking Draco out of his thoughts as he responded to the question. Draco chided himself mentally while outwardly widening his smile as Potter kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket, laying it over the back of a chair as he moved towards the couch, sinking into the cushions with a groan.

'You haven't been staying at our place, have you?' Draco asked, keeping his voice gentle rather than accusatory. It was obvious how happy Potter was to be back in a familiar environment. The tension in his shoulders had already relaxed.

Potter shook his head. 'Can't,' he said, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes. 'I see you—him—everywhere.'

Draco ignored Potter's self-correction as he tried to separate the person in front of him from Charlie's memory. Drawing attention to the dissonance never worked well. He always found he got better results with letting people sink into the pretence. He reached down to unlace his own boots, kicking the clumsy things off with a feeling of relief. He joined Potter on the couch, twisting to face him and bringing one leg up under the other, sitting the way Charlie had in so many of Potter's memories, as he thought about how he wanted to start the conversation.

' _Accio_ Bombardier,' Potter said, opening his eyes and holding out both hands. Draco heard the refrigerator in the next room clunk as it opened, and a second later a beer had slapped into each of Potter's hands. Draco had taken a chance and stocked the Muggle appliance with the beer he'd seen Potter drinking in two of the memories. He felt that same faint satisfaction he always got as another thread in the tapestry of the life he was creating wove into place.

'Show off,' Draco said, emulating Charlie's fond tone as he repeated the statement Charlie made every time Potter used wandless magic in front of him. He ignored the small flutter in his own chest at the casual demonstration of Potter's abilities.

Potter smiled, just slightly, but Draco got the impression it was probably the happiest he'd been in a while. The thought made something inside Draco stir, and he chided himself. This wasn't about him. It was about Potter and uncovering all his dark and terrible secrets. 

_It's always been about Potter_ , a voice inside him whispered. Draco shook it off. He couldn't do his job unless he was focused completely on creating the experience that the person in front of him needed in order to confront whatever was challenging them and move on.

The notes from Potter's Mind Healer said he needed closure with his husband. For most people whose loved one had died suddenly, that meant a chance to say goodbye. For Potter, Draco sensed it was something deeper than that. The notes had hinted at it as well, though Healer Jeffries hadn't explicitly stated her conclusions. She played with Draco like that sometimes, the good doctor. Draco knew she liked to send him the hardest cases, the ones that had the most fucked-up secrets to find.

Potter broke into Draco's thoughts as he tapped the necks of their bottles together lightly, and Draco forced himself to focus. What was wrong with him today?

'Salute,' Draco said, replaying something he'd seen in one of Potter's memories. Potter winced, and Draco thought he may have miscalculated. It didn't happen often, but sometimes he made the wrong call about what a client expected or would respond to.

But then Potter repeated it. 'Salute,' he said, his voice almost breaking on the word. He took a deep swallow of his beer while Draco sipped at his, keeping the grimace off his face at the bitterness. He'd never been a beer drinker.

'Do you remember that trip to Italy?' Potter asked, as he looked down at the beer in his hands. Draco was lost for a second, until he realised Potter and Charlie must have heard the saying while in Italy. He made an encouraging hum, but stayed quiet. Potter hadn't provided him with any memories related to that trip, and Draco didn't want to shatter the illusion by getting a detail wrong.

Potter didn't seem as though he wanted to continue, though. He took another deep swallow of his drink. Draco wondered if Potter would become more suggestible if he were drunk, and if getting another beer would be a good idea. 

'We were so happy then,' Potter said as he looked down at his bottle again. His voice was quiet, and much of the defeat he'd worn when he walked in was back.

'We were happy most of the time,' Draco said, knowing it was true. The memories Potter had given him were full of joy and love and a carefree sort of ease that Draco had never experienced with another person. It had hurt, watching them while trapped in his twisted body, knowing he would never have something so good.

'Not towards the end,' Potter muttered, and it was so quiet that Draco thought he might have misheard it. He decided to let it go for now, filing it away for the notes he would make after the session was over.

'Do you remember that Christmas when you, me and Ginny played three up against Dean, Ron and George?' Draco said instead, pulling one of the memories he'd enjoyed watching into the conversation. Potter took another drink of his beer instead of responding but he made eye contact, so Draco continued, 'And I charmed the Snitch to chase Ron and whack him on the head every time he tried to score a goal?'

Potter huffed a sound that might have been a laugh, and a little spark of happiness came into his eyes. It wasn't much, but Draco counted it as a win.

'I'll never forget the look on his face,' Draco continued with a laugh of his own—he _had_ found the memory very funny. 'No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch it.'

'And then he fell into the apple tree,' Potter finished, the small smile on his face spreading slightly.

'And then he fell into the apple tree,' Draco confirmed, letting Charlie's laugh out. He'd had to practice it for hours to get it right; it was big and hearty and full of life—so different from his own, spare and sharp-edged.

He saw more of Potter's walls go down at the sound. Potter closed his eyes, as though to better take it in. Draco wondered how much pain he was still carrying. Charlie must have meant a lot to him, to have hurt him so much.

'Are you still flying?' Draco asked, though he knew the answer, had seen it in Healer Jeffries' report. Potter hadn't been doing anything for months now, anything but existing.

Potter hesitated for a second and then shook his head, and this time he couldn't quite meet Draco's eyes. Draco could see that evasion for what it was; normally, it was one of his first hooks to help a client back towards a place of healing. This time, it would be a hook to get him further into Potter's confidence, to get him to the place where he could do the most damage.

'That's a shame,' he said, 'I always did love watching you on a broom.' As the words left his mouth, Draco had a disconcerting moment where he felt like he could have said them from his own perspective. He shook it off. Staying in character was the number one rule Rosa had drilled into him: from the moment you take the Polyjuice to the moment it wears off, never deviate from the understanding that you _are_ the person you have become.

'I don't—' Potter began, and then he shook his head, almost angrily. 'I haven't felt like it, lately.'

Draco reached across the small distance between them and put his hand on Potter's knee. For a second he was almost surprised to see the broad, freckled hand, scarred and calloused, and he shook himself mentally, more viciously this time. He was _Charlie Weasley_ right now. 

Potter froze for a moment at Draco's touch, and then he dropped his own hand, covering Draco's and squeezing it slightly. Potter closed his eyes again, tilting his head back as his hand tightened on Draco's. Draco could tell he was fighting his emotions again.

'What about the time we flew on that ridgeback?' Draco said instead. He didn't need Potter to dwell on his grief. He had to build a rapport with him to be able to get inside his head.

Potter made a startled sound that was almost a laugh, but then his eyes were open again and he was looking at Draco with fondness. 'That was the maddest thing I've ever done,' he said, and his green eyes were bright with unshed tears.

'It most definitely is not!' Draco said, and again, he felt like both he and Charlie were speaking as he made the statement.

Potter huffed another almost-laugh and shook his head. Draco squeezed Potter's knee and leant forward slightly. He was going to get at least one proper laugh from Potter before he left for the day. After all, Charlie always made Potter laugh.

~

Draco had a mirror in his workroom. Each day, before he took his Polyjuice—before he took on someone else's life—he looked into the mirror. He studied his face, the sharp edges of his features, the angry slash of his scars, the cruel cast to his mouth. He drank the essence of the person he was to become that day and watched as his face and hair bloomed with colour and his eyes came to life. He watched as his body untwisted and straightened as it filled with health. Each day he said goodbye to Draco Malfoy, for a little while, anyway. For as long as he could get away with.

It took three more days before he could watch his hair grow out, red and thick, and the freckles splash back across his cheeks like flecks of mud. His shoulders broadened, stretching to fill the clothes he'd already changed into. He cleared his throat; already the sound was deeper, more certain. He practised Charlie's voice, anyway. It was important that he got it right. Every element had to be right.

This time, when he opened the door, Potter accepted Draco's hug easily. He was cleaner, Draco noted as he buried his nose in Potter's hair and breathed in. Potter had showered. That was good; it meant he didn't want Charlie to see him doing badly. It meant the lie was taking.

'I have a surprise for you,' Draco said, intercepting Potter before he could sit back on the couch where they'd spent the first visit.

'Oh?' Potter said, with a slight quirk to his mouth. It spoke of something more—some knowledge that Draco didn't have. The thought of that frustrated him. He wondered what Charlie normally surprised Potter with, and a possibility came to him immediately. He hesitated for just a second before he dropped a wink Potter's way and let his grin widen into a leer. 

Potter blushed slightly and looked away, then glanced back almost immediately. Draco felt the satisfaction of guessing right: Potter's husband liked to surprise him with sex. That certainly hadn't been in any of the memories Potter had surrendered for the purpose of his therapy. Sex was never a part of the sessions Draco led. The idea of doing _that_ , with anyone...

The thought of it tugged at him, worming its way down inside him. He got a flash of a memory—his own—drunk and needy, coming across Potter in a club, blurting out his want in one shame-filled, furious tangle. 

Potter would never want Draco that way—would never touch him that way. He'd made that more than clear with his raging eyes and vicious words. Draco shook off the old pain with years worth of practice and pulled himself back to the present.

'You okay to fly in that?' he asked, gesturing to the jeans and t-shirt Potter was wearing.

Potter shrugged, the look of interest on his face dimming slightly. Draco ignored his lack of enthusiasm. He was right about this. He knew he was.

'C'mon,' he said, turning away from Potter and gesturing with his head towards the back door. He held his breath for the count of five as he walked away, and then let it out silently as he heard footsteps trailing behind him. Potter liked to follow Charlie's lead. Draco had seen shadows of it in the memories.

Draco had propped two brooms at the back door of the simulation of Potter and Charlie's house. He'd thought of using the Nimbus models he'd seen in Potter's memory of their pick-up games at the Weasley family home, but then he'd remembered something he'd seen in the papers. It had taken him an hour of searching through the folders of photos and articles he'd collected on Potter over the years, but he'd come up with the one he wanted: Potter and his husband had been gifted matching Thunderbolts for their third anniversary. 

It had taken Draco some creative accounting to get his hands on the deposit required to loan the brooms for the session. It was worth it, however, as he watched Potter's eyes light up when he saw them. Draco waited, his satisfaction growing as Potter reached out, running one thumb softly over the glamour of the initials carved into the handle of one of the brooms: _CPW_. The article Draco had read had been kind enough to point out that little detail.

Potter picked up the broom engraved with Charlie's initials and handed it to Draco with a smile that was almost shy. Draco took it with a big, happy grin of his own and gestured out the back door. Potter turned to it, his smile dimming again as he put his hand on the handle. Draco knew what was going through Potter's mind. He was remembering that he was in an apartment in London, that there was nothing beyond the door. Potter was remembering that this was all fake and he was only here for his own good, so he could learn to move on.

Draco put his hand on Potter's back and gave him a small rub with his thumb. _Trust me_ , he implored mentally, pushing it towards Potter with the barest touch of _Legilimency_. Potter had strong _Occlumency_ shields up so Draco couldn't do anything more than gently suggest. He felt his eleven-year-old self and his eighteen-year-old self adding their want to his: _Trust me, and let it happen_.

Potter hesitated a moment longer, leaning back into Draco's touch as though drawing comfort from it, and then he took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and opened the door.

He let out a small, disbelieving laugh at the sight that met his eyes and turned to Draco, shaking his head ruefully.

Draco gave him Charlie's crooked smile and a gentle push in the back, urging him out the door and into the field beyond. 

It had taken Draco a full day to create an undetectable portal between the door to his Simulacrum studio and an empty field in countryside Dartmoor. He'd set up Muggle repellent charms and glamoured the site to look exactly the same as the field behind Potter and Charlie's house. He knew it was exactly the same because he'd spent two hours outside Potter's currently-abandoned house, combing over the field and examining it from all angles. It was lucky that the _Fidelius_ charm the house was under had extended into the memories he'd been given.

Testing the wards and the Weasley family's possible remaining links to the site with an afternoon of flying had been too much of a risk to take. Recreating the scene was much safer. He'd had to cancel appointments with two other clients to get the site set up in time, but it was worth it as Potter pulled him close for a quick hug and whispered, 'Thank you,' into his ear.

Draco shrugged as though it had been nothing. He stepped out of the doorway and threw a leg over his broom, mounting it with an economical movement that was far more reminiscent of Charlie Weasley and far less graceful than Draco's normal style. But then, it had been a long time since he last flew—his body wasn't shaped for a broom anymore.

Potter had given him two flying memories and Draco had studied them obsessively. Charlie relied a lot on strength and he used short, sharp movements, shoving other people out of the way as he played. Draco hadn't brought any of the gear for Quidditch, but he pushed Potter around anyway, chasing him through the sky and trying not to pout too much as Potter outstripped him time and again, circling back with a grin.

The more they flew, the more Potter loosened up, until his smiles and his laughter were coming freely. His hair was tousled by the speed of his flight and his face had lost some of its pallor. After a while, Draco circled back to the ground. He might have been wearing Charlie's body, but that didn't mean he had the same reserves of strength and energy as the man. And he needed to take another dose of Polyjuice. He knew he could last a three-hour stretch, but he always liked to layer the doses when he was doing a longer session.

He sat in the grass and looked up at the sky, squinting as he watched Potter dive and swoop and roll through the air, speeding towards the horizon before pulling himself up hard and shooting for the sky. It wasn't too much longer before Potter came down to join him. As much as he seemed to be enjoying the freedom of his flight, it seemed that Charlie's presence called him more.

Draco lay back in the grass as Potter approached. He put one hand behind his head and closed his eyes. He heard the grass swish as Potter made his way over and then the sound stopped as Potter stood above him, looking down at him, sprawled out on the ground. Draco breathed slowly and evenly, and after a moment, the grass rustled as Potter moved closer, lowering himself onto the ground and stretching out beside Draco.

'Having fun?' Draco asked as the silence stretched on. It wasn't a bad silence. It was warm and relaxed and familiar, but Draco should be trying to get Potter to talk. He hadn't got anything he could use yet, after all.

'Yeah,' Potter said, and his voice was thick.

Draco turned his head to look at Potter, but his eyes were closed and he had an arm thrown over them. Draco considered him for a moment. He didn't want to push and break the illusion he was creating. How would Charlie approach this?

'Have you seen Ron and Hermione lately?' he asked, looking back up at the sky so that Potter wouldn't feel pressured to answer him.

Potter grunted noncommittally and Draco took that as a no. He thought about asking after Molly, but discarded the thought a moment later. He'd read something in the papers about a falling out in the family, but the details had been scarce. There would be too much grief associated with that connection, if that was the case. He thought back over the memories he'd had access to, feeling frustration at the gaps in them.

He tried to think about what Potter liked. What he needed. Directness worked for him. He was bad at emotions and he liked to be direct.

'What are you thinking about?' Draco asked, rolling to his side and cushioning his head on his arm as he faced Potter.

Potter tensed slightly at Draco's movement, but didn't respond.

'Harry?' Draco said, the name sounding soft and strangely intimate in his mouth. 'Babe?'

Potter let out a sigh and shifted slightly in the grass, but he didn't take his arm off his eyes.

'You,' Potter said, after a long moment.

Draco made a hum of encouragement, but didn't say anything more.

'I miss you so much,' Potter said, quicker this time, as though the words had been trapped inside him and he'd needed to say them. He was still covering his eyes, as though he couldn't bear to see Draco as he spoke.

'I missed you, too,' Draco said, and he was surprised to find it was true. It was possible that the only time he had stopped thinking about Potter in the three days between his first visit and this one was when Draco was sleeping.

Potter's hands clenched into fists at Draco's words, but he still wouldn't open his eyes.

Draco made a soothing sound and reached out to rub a hand down Potter's arm. His muscles were tense. They felt good under Draco's fingertips.

'Why did you have to go?' Potter whispered, and his voice was full of despair.

'I'm sorry,' Draco said back. He trailed his fingers down Potter's arm until he was covering his balled-up fist. He gently encouraged Potter to open his hand, and he twined their fingers together.

'I'm sorry,' Draco said again, as they lay together in a field that was a lie brought to life.

~

Potter's third, fourth and fifth visits were much the same. They talked. Draco made Potter laugh. Potter started talking more, volunteering information, bringing more memories with him, opening up. And then he got moody and melancholy. Draco could see a ball of _something_ inside Potter. It was a secret that was eating him up. It was the reason Healer Jeffries had sent Potter to him. It was the thing Potter needed to come to terms with before he could move on. Draco had a feeling it would be the secret that could break Potter once and for all, if he could learn it.

But Potter wouldn't speak of it. He shied away from it every time Draco tried to coax him closer. And he watched Draco. Watched Charlie, really, but his eyes were intense and Draco liked the way they felt on him. It had been a very long time since he'd felt seen by Potter.

Potter turned up to his sixth appointment drunk. It was apparent the minute he stepped through the door. He stumbled into Draco and he reeked of the sharpness of Firewhiskey. Draco held him up as he considered for a moment, what to do. If it was any other client, he would've turned them away, made them come back when they were sober. But it had been three days since Draco had last seen Potter, and he was finding it harder and harder to wait between the visits. He couldn't go another three days. Besides, he thought as Potter nuzzled into him, now would be the perfect time to push for the secret Potter was holding onto so tightly.

Draco directed him towards the couch, pulling Potter's arm around himself. Potter made a happy sound and gripped Draco's shoulder. As they took a step forward, Potter reached up, twisting towards Draco, burying his face in his neck and inhaling. It nearly caused Draco to trip and send them both careening to the ground.

Draco gave Potter a tug to get him facing the right way. He tried to ignore the way Potter's lips dragged over his skin and the faint wetness they left behind. That had been an accident, he was sure.

He got Potter seated on the couch and was about to move back, to sit at the other end, when Potter's hand shot out, latching onto Draco's wrist and pulling him down onto the couch. Draco landed with one knee bent and resting on Potter's legs and with Potter's grip warm on his skin.

'What's gotten into you?' Draco tried, with some of Charlie's laughter in his voice. Potter was not always a happy drunk. In all the memories Draco had been given, Potter was having a good time, of course. But Draco had memories of his own, of watching Potter from the shadows as he drowned his sorrows alone in some Muggle bar. He had clippings as well, from articles where Potter's propensity for hard drink followed by an angry outburst had caught up with him.

Today, Potter didn't laugh back. Instead he lifted a hand, running it down the side of Draco's face with a touch that was slightly clumsy, but still felt like sparks against his skin. 

'I didn't mean to drink so much,' Potter said, and his voice was surprisingly clear. His eyes too, though his gaze was intense and full of heat.

'Do you want a Sobering Potion?' Draco asked, trying not to focus on that look in Potter's eyes. 

Potter grimaced and looked away. 'I hate those,' he muttered. 'You know that.'

 _Shit_ , Draco thought as he realised he'd miscalculated. Potter might be drunk, but he still knew Charlie. 

Draco brought his hand up, placing it over Potter's—the one that was cupping Draco's cheek, thumb stroking lightly. Potter's eyes flicked back to meet Draco's and Potter licked his lips, his tongue darting out for just a moment.

'I just wanted to have one or two,' Potter murmured, and Draco couldn't look away from his gaze. 'It's been so long, and I just wanted a bit of courage.' 

His eyes dropped to Draco's mouth and suddenly, Draco realised what was going to happen. Potter was going to kiss him. He needed to stop this. He couldn't... It was Potter. He—

'I miss you so much,' Potter said, and his other hand slid onto Draco's hip. Two fingers slipped under the edge of his t-shirt, rubbing against his skin. Draco's breath shook as his entire focus narrowed down to that touch. 

'You have no idea how hard it is to see you every time I come here,' Potter continued, his voice lower now, husky. 'To want you and not be able to have you.'

Potter leaned in. His eyes dropped to Draco's mouth again. Draco knew he should stop him. He couldn't do this. It was madness.

Potter urged him closer, leaning in and pressing his lips against Draco's. Draco breathed in sharply at the warmth of Potter's mouth, the hint of moisture as Potter parted his lips, the sharp taste of the drink, the moan Potter gave as Draco tentatively kissed him back.

Then Potter moved. He cupped Draco's face in both hands and twisted his body, deepening the kiss as he pushed himself up. After another second he threw a leg over Draco, straddling him. Draco brought up his hands, almost instinctively, to Potter's hips, holding him as he tried to ground himself. 

Potter moaned again and licked at Draco's mouth, seeking entry. His kiss was sloppy in its need, but Draco couldn't help but respond. He had Harry Potter in his arms, heavy in his lap. He'd wanted this for more years than he could remember. He could admit to himself, in this moment, that he'd wanted this even through all the anger and hate that had followed the war.

He gripped Potter's hips tighter and opened his mouth, allowing Potter's tongue in. The kiss was hot and wet, and Draco almost whimpered at the feelings that were flooding through him.

Potter moved his hips, grinding against Draco, and their kiss got messier, faster. Potter broke it off, arching his back and tangling his fingers in Draco's hair, guiding his head so that Draco's mouth was at his neck. Draco kissed him, breathed in the smell of him, scraped his teeth lightly against the smooth skin. He could feel Potter's pulse beating frantically and there was something so desperately intimate about it.

'Fuck, bite me,' Potter gasped, grinding down against Draco's lap. Draco was almost surprised to realise he was hard, his cock twitching at the words from Potter's mouth. He did as he was asked, biting into the muscle under his mouth.

Potter let out a cry of pleasure and his hands tightened in Draco's hair, pulling him closer. Draco's hands slipped down over Potter's jean-clad arse and Potter arched his back, as though inviting Draco to slip his hands inside. Draco had never done anything like this before but it felt so natural to feel Potter's skin under his hands, to cup the swell of his arse.

'Fuck, Charlie,' Potter moaned. 'Fingers, please.'

The words were like a bucket of ice cold water thrown over Draco. He froze. _Charlie_. He was wearing Charlie's body. Potter didn't want _him_. Potter had no idea Draco was even there. He wanted Charlie Weasley. Draco felt a sick disappointment curl in his gut. He chased it away immediately. What did he expect? Potter had never wanted him.

Potter didn't seem to realise anything was wrong. He was kissing his way along Draco's jaw. _Charlie's_ jaw.

Draco reached up and grasped Potter's wrists, just hard enough to make him release his grip on Charlie's hair. Potter looked confused when Draco pushed him slightly, so that he was leaning back and there were a few centimetres between them. A part of Draco wanted to draw him back in, to ignore what he'd heard. He suppressed the impulse and listened to the other part of himself, the part that had retained the tiniest piece of pride—the part that the war, the trials, Azkaban, and the last ten years of being a crippled pariah hadn't managed to take from him.

'We can't do this,' Draco said. Charlie's voice came out thick with the want that was still surging through Draco.

Potter frowned and attempted to lean back in, but Draco held firm. Charlie's body was strong, much stronger than Potter's.

'Why not?' Potter said, his face darkening.

Draco hesitated for a long moment. He didn't want to break the familiarity and the comfort he'd been developing with Potter. He needed that trust, he reminded himself as he tried to clear his head and move back into the angry space he'd started this whole thing with several weeks earlier.

'You know why,' Draco said. He hoped that Potter would accept it, hoped that Potter would stop. Draco didn't know if he had the strength to stop him a second time.

Potter's frown deepened and he dropped his hands into his lap, sitting back a bit further but not moving away. He looked defeated, all of a sudden, sad and lost. Draco felt an absurd urge to comfort him. He wondered if that was Charlie's influence, and pushed the thought away. No, this was the moment he had been waiting for. He could see it written in the vulnerability that surrounded Potter like a shroud.

'Why did you come here?' Draco asked. His hands were on Potter's thighs now and he rubbed small circles against the denim, his movements as gentle as his words.

Potter opened his mouth and then closed it again, giving a vicious shake of his head.

'Harry,' Draco pressed, knowing this was it. He brought one hand up, cupping Harry's cheek with a broad palm.

Harry met his eyes and Draco tried to convey that it was okay, that he could let go of whatever he'd been carrying.

'I just want you back,' Harry said, and in his voice Draco heard an ocean of grief so deep he knew he could drown in it. 'I kill everyone I love and I never get them back.'

Draco let the words flow through him as he tried to figure out what they meant. Was Harry talking about his parents? His godfather? What did this have to do with his husband?

'Babe,' he said gently, stroking a thumb over Harry's cheek. 'You didn't kill me. It was an accident.'

Harry closed his eyes, turning his face into Draco's palm like a small child seeking comfort.

'I didn't mean to kiss Will,' Harry whispered. Draco felt the words spear through him and he had to force himself not to react. 'You'd been gone so much, and I just—' Harry squeezed his eyes tighter and Draco saw a tear slip from the corner of one. He wiped it with his thumb, his mind racing as he considered the best response.

'It wasn't your fault,' Draco said, trying for a soothing tone.

Harry opened his eyes and glared at Draco. 

'You've worked with Hebridean Blacks a hundred times. The only way you could have been killed by one is if you were completely unfocused.' Harry's voice rose steadily and more tears began to stream their way down his face. He wiped them away with an angry movement. 'The only way you could have died is if you were distracted because your prick of a husband told you he'd cheated on you because he couldn't handle not having every tiny bit of your attention.'

 _Shit_ , Draco thought, his mind in overdrive as he looked at Harry and the anguish of his confession written all over him. This really was it. Harry's deep, dark secret, and the reason he couldn't move past Charlie's death. He held himself directly responsible for it.

'It wasn't your fault,' Draco said again as he tried to think through the angles of the knowledge he now held. 'No one blames you.'

Harry let out a bitter laugh. 'Ron does.'

He shifted off Draco suddenly and stood, his balance unsteady as he swayed in place.

'This was a mistake,' he said, stepping around the couch and making his way towards the door.

Draco stood too, everything moving too quickly for him to process.

'Harry,' he called. 'Wait.'

Harry ignored him, stopping only when he reached the door. He turned back to Draco and his whole body radiated pain and grief. 

'I'm sorry,' he said, and then he opened the door and left.

Draco stared after him, his mind whirling with everything he'd just seen and heard. He could still taste Harry in his mouth, still feel Harry's hands on his body.

Harry thought he had killed his husband.

If this were any other job, Draco would have written up his notes and sent them straight through to Healer Jeffries. This was what she needed to help Harry unpack his issues and move towards healing and closure. 

But this was Harry. This was _Potter_. Draco could hurt him, with this information. Could destroy him, if he wanted to.

Draco sat at his desk for a long time after Harry left, thinking about everything he knew and everything he should do.

Healer Jeffries didn't receive a letter.

~

Draco spent a sleepless night trying to think about what he wanted to do with the information he now knew. He had to make Potter pay, didn't he? He'd dreamt of bringing Potter down into the dirt alongside him for years.

The first thing he laid eyes on when he entered his workroom was a new case of memories, packed away into little green vials. None of them were labelled, but his name—the made-up one he worked under—was scrawled on the note attached to the top.

He unfolded the note, looking at it alongside the memories that were swirling enticingly up at him. It was brief and unsigned.

_I need to see you again. If I didn't ruin everything yesterday, can you watch these and owl me if I can come back?_

Draco looked down at the memories, even more curious. He picked one up at random and limped towards his Pensieve, tipping it in. He could make out shadows moving lazily in the bowl and the murmur of voices, almost too low to hear. He winced as he lowered himself into his chair, took a deep breath, gripped the sides of the Pensieve and pushed his face in.

He landed in a bedroom—Harry's bedroom, he knew immediately, though Draco had never seen it before. He didn't stop to take in the details. His eyes were drawn immediately to the moving figures.

Arousal jolted through Draco so hard it hurt as he took in the scene before him.

Harry was bending over the foot of the bed, his hands clutching at the metal frame so hard his knuckles were white. He was crying out in a rhythmic panting as Charlie fucked him from behind. Charlie's hands gripped Harry's arse, fingers digging in as he snapped his hips, driving himself into Harry again and again.

Harry was pushing back against him, clearly wanting it. He was naked and his body was hard and lean. His head was buried in the crook of one shoulder.

As Draco watched, Charlie reached forward, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and pulling back—not hard, but just enough to hurt, by the looks of it. Harry moaned loudly, his head tipping back at Charlie's urging.

Draco reached down to palm his own cock, hard and straining against his trousers from the look of bliss on Harry's face. He was gorgeous, Draco thought. He'd always known, somehow, that Harry would be like this during sex. Seeing it was like seeing every fantasy, every dirty, shame-filled wank he'd ever had over Potter, come to life.

He stepped closer, unable to help himself. He couldn't take his eyes off Harry and the pleasure on his face, or the sight of his bobbing cock, hard and untouched between his legs.

Draco wanted to touch it. Wanted to taste it. Wanted to be the one pounding into Harry, feeling Harry's heat clench around him. He'd never done that before, with anyone, but he'd pictured it so, so many times.

He moved closer again, pressing harder against his aching cock, rubbing himself through his trousers as he reached out to run his hand down Harry's back, over the lean, defined muscles. His hand passed through Harry's body, the wisps of memory breaking and reforming around his touch, but even that imaginary stroke had him rubbing harder at himself.

He looked down to see Charlie's cock sliding in and out of Harry's arse, the greedy clench as Harry drew him back in. He could only imagine how good that must feel.

'Fuck, Charlie,' Harry moaned, biting his lip. 'Harder. I'm close.'

Draco opened the button of his trousers with shaking hands. He unzipped his fly and reached in, pulling his cock out, groaning as he gave it a quick stroke. He only meant to touch himself as he watched, but his eyes were drawn back to Harry's arse and how good it looked.

He stepped in closer. The wisps of Charlie's body broke and reformed around Draco as he took up the same position, his cock in his hand.

He and Charlie were the same height, something Draco was glad for as he looked down to see his cock lined up with Harry's arse. He gripped himself and thrust forward, imagining it was Harry's arse he was pushing into.

Harry looked back over his shoulder, his eyes bright and needy.

'Fuck,' he said. 'So good. Don't stop.'

Draco moaned and thrust again into his clenched fist. His other hand shadowed Charlie's, clenching onto the memory of Harry's hair, causing the arch in his back and the desperation in his eyes to deepen as he pushed into Draco's thrusting cock.

Draco sped up his movements. Harry closed his eyes, the panting cries leaving his mouth and the look on his face signalling his orgasm was approaching fast.

'That's it,' Draco whispered, as his eyes roved over every part of Harry's body, spread out before him. 'That's it, Potter. Come for me. Come on my cock. You know you want it.'

Draco chased his own release, gasping as his hips moving in a blur. Harry's lower half was a tangled swirl of movement as the memory tried to reform around him, but Draco didn't care. Harry had opened his eyes again and Draco could see his face.

'Yes,' Harry cried out. 'Fuck yes, just like that.'

'You've always wanted it,' Draco grunted out, his fist clenching as he imagined jerking Harry's head back, biting into his neck. 'You pretend you don't but you've always wanted me.'

Draco cried out as his orgasm ripped through him, the pleasure overcoming him in waves. He slumped forward, disrupting Harry's image completely, but he could still hear the sound as Harry gave voice to his own release.

Draco knew that his twisted wreck of a body, sitting on the chair in his workshop, had just spent itself into his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

He breathed hard for a moment, thinking of the other eight vials he'd been sent. He gave Harry one last glance. He was standing straight now with Charlie behind him, arms wrapped around him as he murmured soothing words into Harry's ear. Draco couldn't identify the emotion that twisted in his chest at the sight. He frowned and then pulled himself back out of the memory.

~

Draco owled Harry immediately to confirm that he wanted to meet, but chose a day a week later. He needed to watch all of the memories. He needed to understand what Harry wanted, what he liked, how Charlie fucked. He needed to know if they cuddled, if they switched, if Harry actually enjoyed everything they did together or if there were things his face gave away, when Charlie couldn't see.

He watched each of the memories on repeat and wanked himself raw. Images of Harry, naked and writhing, wanting and panting, ran through Draco's mind constantly. He dreamt of Harry, his body twined around Draco's. Harry calling out _Draco's_ name instead of Charlie's.

When Harry finally walked through the door, his face was shy, almost embarrassed. 

'Hey,' Draco greeted him, his own want pitching Charlie's voice lower naturally.

'Hi,' Harry said, giving him a small smile.

'Drink?' Draco asked, wanting to put him at ease, and needing something to occupy himself with. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears.

Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on the closed door to the bedroom, which, thanks to Draco's spellwork, now had something behind it. But he flicked his gaze away again, just as quickly.

'Sure,' he said. 'Thanks.'

Draco got the beers and they sat quietly for a moment. He wanted to relieve Harry's nervousness, but he wasn't quite sure where to start, and his own nerves were pricking at him. He was confident he would know what to do; he'd watched the memories so many times, he could fuck Harry in his sleep. But something about the thought of actually doing it, instead of just fantasising about it, had him hesitating.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, breaking the silence, 'about the way I turned up, at the last visit.' He glanced at Draco and then away. 'And for anything I may have said. I—I don't remember everything, I don't think. But I know that I... That we...'

'It's fine,' Draco said, putting his beer on the table as he reached out to run a hand over Harry's thigh in a soothing motion. 'You didn't say anything bad.' Draco thought about the notes he had locked away—about the guilty, painful secret that was killing Harry, and he realised with a jolt, that he hadn't thought about how he could use Harry's guilt to punish him all week. He hadn't thought about anything but the contents of those vials since he'd watched the first one.

Harry seemed to sense Draco's inner turmoil, even if he didn't know the cause.

'I—was it okay, that I sent those? The memories, I mean?' Harry's voice was uncertain and Draco realised, as he spoke, that this was why Harry was nervous. He was worried he'd acted inappropriately and had pushed the person helping him in a professional context, into a situation they didn't want.

'You didn't do anything wrong,' Draco said again, his voice soothing. His hand inched higher and Harry's breath caught. He glanced down and then back up at Draco.

Harry's hand dropped to cover Draco's. He twined their fingers together, halting his movement.

'You haven't done anything wrong,' Draco repeated, willing Harry to believe him. 'It's fine. I've missed you, Harry. I want this just as much as you do.' He checked Harry's face as he spoke, trying to see if Harry was willing to fall back into the lie—if he would let himself forget that someone else sat underneath the façade of the husband he missed so badly. Harry's shoulders relaxed slightly, and Draco felt a glow of satisfaction. He had always been a good liar.

'You don't—it's okay?' Harry asked, something in his voice pleading for reassurance.

'It's absolutely fine, babe,' Draco said, and he gave Harry Charlie's crooked smile.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He put his drink down on the table with a thunk, opened his eyes and reached for Draco.

Draco met him halfway and their kiss was misaligned for just a moment before Draco cupped Harry's cheek, his fingers curling around the back of Harry's neck. He tilted Harry's head, just so, just as Charlie did when they'd kissed. Harry's mouth opened to him, and Draco shuddered as their tongues slid against each other.

Harry sped up immediately, kissing Draco hard and fast, almost frantically, as though something in him had been unleashed with the touch. His hands began to stroke over Draco's face, his neck, his chest, as though he couldn't settle on just one place, but needed to touch everywhere all at once, now that he was able to.

Draco grunted in surprise as Harry moved to straddle him on the couch, the way he had one week before. Harry pressed down with his hips as his hands slipped under the hem of Draco's shirt and urged it up. 

Draco tried to think, but Harry's hands were everywhere; his attention shifted from Harry's mouth to the sounds he was making and the feeling of his body grinding against Draco's lap. He could feel himself becoming overwhelmed by how close Harry was and how many things were happening all at once.

Then his shirt was over his head and Harry was bending over to take one of Draco's nipples in his mouth, rasping across it with his teeth before sucking it. Draco flinched, wanting to tell Harry to be careful, that the scar that cut away most of his nipple made the flesh painful, but then he looked down at Harry's messy black hair bent over a chest of ginger curls and he felt a jolt of shock as he remembered this wasn't his body. This was Charlie's.

Of course. Of course it was Charlie's. Harry's husband. Harry's dead husband.

Draco lifted his hands, putting them on Harry's hips as he tried to gentle him, to take charge the way he'd watched Charlie do in the memories. Harry liked it when Charlie took charge.

But Harry took Draco's touch as an invitation for more. He reached down and pulled his own shirt off. Draco looked at him and felt his heartbeat quicken. He'd seen Harry naked a hundred times by now, but this was different. It was solid. Real.

Harry pushed himself off Draco's lap and stood. He unbuttoned his jeans with a rough movement and shoved them down, his cock bobbing free he bent to push them off, kicking off his shoes with an awkward, hopping movement.

A second later he was back, naked and straddling Draco's lap again. This time he grabbed Draco's hands, putting them on his hips and encouraging him to slide around and cup his arse. 

Draco did, closing his eyes against the want that flooded through him as he kneaded and pulled at Harry's arse cheeks.

'Fucking hell,' Harry muttered. He cupped Draco's face, burying his hands in Draco's hair as he leaned in for another kiss.

Draco slid his hands over Harry's skin, marvelling at how smooth it was, how warm he was. He could sit here like this all day, with Harry in his arms. 

Just as he thought that, Harry moved again. He reached down to unbutton Draco's cargos and shifted slightly to give himself enough room to cup Draco's cock through his pants. He rubbed it with a swift movement that had Draco arching into the touch with a broken, 'Fuck'. No one had ever touched him there before. No one except himself. He wasn't prepared for how good it felt. How good and strange it was at the same time, to have someone else's hand on him.

Harry seemed to take his exclamation as encouragement. He tugged at the waistband of Draco's cargos, encouraging him to lift his hips so Harry could pull his trousers and pants down past his arse, exposing his cock. The swiftness surprised Draco. Everything was moving so quickly. He looked down and then looked away, the sight of a body—a _cock_ —that was so clearly not his own jarring him when he'd felt so intensely connected to all the sensations around himself.

Harry's lips were on his again. Then his hand was on Draco's cock, and Draco's gasp was swallowed by Harry's mouth. He felt like he was being devoured. There was heat and touch and taste and smell everywhere. Harry's hand on Draco's cock was wet and slippery and a moment later, Harry grunted as he reached behind himself, working his arm with hard, fast movements.

He lifted himself onto his knees, and it was only as he reached behind himself and grabbed Draco's cock with the same slippery fist that Draco understood what was happening. He tensed and Harry hushed him.

'It's okay. I'll make you feel good. So good, I promise.' Harry bit his lip, and the look on his face was so desperate that Draco stopped the words rising in his throat, the _wait_ and _I've never_. Harry needed this. Draco had wanted this for a long time, too. Fast was fine.

Then Draco couldn't think at all as Harry's arse clenched around him, gripping his cock so hot and tight he thought he might die from it. Nothing— _nothing_ —he imagined had prepared him for this.

When he was fully seated, Harry rested for a moment, leaning his forehead against Draco's as he breathed deeply. He looked into Draco's eyes and Draco realised he had never seen Harry this closely before. Harry's eyes were bright with want, but there was also a sadness inside them that seemed embedded in every part of his being, like it had been there when he was born and would be there until the day he died.

Draco realised with a start of surprise, that he didn't like the sadness.

Then Harry kissed him again and Draco forgot all about it as Harry started to move. He let out a cry as Harry worked himself on Draco's cock, the clenching heat sliding up and down him.

'Gods, _Harry_.'

Harry's name spilled from Draco's lips without thought, as Harry continued to move. Harry moaned at the sound and cupped Draco's face, looking into his eyes.

'I've been thinking about this so much,' Harry whispered. Draco's hands clenched helplessly against Harry's hips as he fought to get himself under control. He needed to be in charge. That was what Harry liked. He wanted to give Harry what he liked.

Harry kissed Draco's neck, whispering in his ear as he moved on Draco's cock with an increasingly fast movement.

'You feel so good,' he murmured, nipping Draco's ear.

'You—' Draco cleared his throat and tried again. 'You do, too.' He moved his hips, thrusting up as Harry let out a deep groan. Draco did it again, his hands holding Harry in place as he pushed into him, harder.

'Fuck, just like that,' Harry gasped, drawing Draco into a deep kiss. 

Draco began to find a rhythm. He pushed into Harry's tight, wet heat as Harry ground back down on him. It wasn't long before Harry's hand was on his own cock, pulling it as he gasped out his enjoyment in little moans and pants.

Draco could feel his pleasure building and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

'Harry,' he groaned. 'Harry, I'm... I can't—'

'Fuck,' Harry said in return, his hand working faster as he gripped Draco's shoulder, arching his back as he bobbed back down. 'Fuck, me too. I'm so close.'

'Gods, Harry. You feel amazing,' Draco groaned. He felt his climax approaching with a strength that threatened to drown him. 'Better than I ever—'

'Fuck,' Harry rasped. 'Fuck, Charlie.' A sob escaped Harry's throat and he clenched his eyes shut as he slammed himself down on Draco's cock one last time before he started to come, the hot splashes of his release coating Draco's stomach.

Draco felt Charlie's name rip through him, in time with his own orgasm. 

_Charlie_ , not Draco. Never Draco. 

Draco pulled Harry close, closing his own eyes as he tried to forget what was real.

~

They lay on the couch together, still naked. Harry's head was pillowed on Draco's chest. Draco looked down at him as thoughts swirled through his mind, chasing each other around in circles.

'Are you happy, Harry?' he asked softly, his fingers running slowly over the smooth skin and lean muscles of Harry's back.

Harry seemed to contemplate that for a moment and then he gave a minute shrug.

'Sometimes,' he said, his voice quiet.

'When?' Draco asked, wondering just what he wanted out of this conversation. He tried to muster the feelings of anger and rejection he'd harboured for so long, but here, wrapped up in Harry's body and scent and touch, it was so hard to bring them back. He felt sated. He thought it might be the closest to happiness he'd felt since before the war.

Harry remained quiet, as Draco tried to unravel his own thoughts, but then he spoke, and there was an almost-defiant note in his voice, as though he was expecting to be told he was wrong.

'I'm happy when I'm with you,' he said, not looking up at Draco.

Draco tried to suppress the feeling of warmth that rose in him at these words. He knew Harry didn't mean _him_. He meant Charlie. But there was something in him that desperately wanted to be seen, to be wanted in his own right.

'Do you—' he hesitated, unsure how to phrase it and not wanting to do anything to cause Harry to want to move away. 'Have you had much contact with your friends? Spending time with other people could make you happy, too?'

Harry frowned, a mixture of pain and anger coming into his eyes. He shook his head. 'No one wants to see me. The way I acted after, after you—' Harry shook his head again, swallowing thickly. 'No one wants to see me,' he repeated, adamantly.

Draco understood the topic was off limits, but there was something in him that needed to push just a little bit further. Something that wouldn't allow him to experience what he and Harry had just shared and not try, one last time, to see if he could reset their past.

'Is there... anyone else, from your old job, school, someone like that, that you could reconnect with?' He looked down at Harry's shoulder, stroking a finger along it, so he didn't have to meet Harry's eyes as he gathered all of his courage and let the next words out of his mouth.

'There was always something intense between you and that Malfoy boy at school, wasn't there?'

Harry's reaction was instantaneous. He pulled back, his face twisting with disgust. ' _Malfoy_? Is that a joke?'

Draco forced a smile onto Charlie's face as he felt something crack in his chest, the pain of it spearing through him. He tried to shake it off. This wasn't a surprise. He'd known. All along, he'd known.

When Harry called out Charlie's name, he would never mean _Draco's_. No matter what happened between them, Harry— _Potter_ —only responded to Draco with hate and violence. It had happened too many times now for him to continue to fool himself that it could be any other way. He was an idiot.

'I'm kidding,' Draco said, drawing on every second of his years of training to force his voice to sound light and teasing.

Harry huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, settling back against him. Draco forced the prickling in the back of his eyes into submission. He was Charlie Weasley right now, and Charlie had nothing to cry about.

Draco's mind raced as he forced himself to think of another topic of conversation. He had to move past his mention of himself immediately. He couldn't plant the seed in Harry's mind that he had any connection to what Harry was experiencing with Charlie. He couldn't risk Harry deciding to call it off. Even after what he'd just heard, he wanted this. After all, he had been under no illusions about what Harry felt for him. Not really.

'I wrote to your Mind Healer,' Draco said, and then he could have kicked himself. There were a million more appropriate times to have that conversation than right now while they were naked and wrapped around each other.

Harry tensed in his arms and Draco rubbed a hand down his back, trying to soothe him, berating himself again for making things worse. 

'I told her I wasn't able to identify the issues you were having and that I would no longer be able to assist with your case,' Draco said. Though a faint guilt had pricked at him as he did so, it had been easy to suppress.

Harry looked up at Draco, pillowing his chin on one hand as he considered Draco's words. He was beautiful, Draco realised as he looked at him. Even after he'd rejected the mere thought of Draco a moment ago, there was something so captivating about him. Draco had never thought of Harry as beautiful before. Fierce, proud, arrogant and dangerous, yes, but like this, loose and comfortable with eyes full of feeling... 

He was beautiful like this.

'I'm going to leave my therapy sessions,' Harry said in return. He sounded as though the very thought of Draco had already left his mind, as though Draco was that easy to forget. 'I'd already planned it. I'll tell her that being around you helped me see what I needed and that I'm ready to move on.'

Draco pushed away the pain of Harry's continuing dismissal of him. He'd known how Harry felt about him. He repeated it like a mantra. It couldn't hurt him if he'd been expecting it. He forced himself to concentrate on Harry's words, and frowned slightly as they sank in. What did Harry mean by 'move on'? Was this a one-time thing?

Harry seemed to understand Draco's concern, and he smiled slightly. After a second, his expression twisted into something a little more knowing and sour.

'I—' He hesitated and took a deep breath before looking Draco directly in the eyes. 'I'm not stupid,' he said. 'I—I know you're not really Charlie. I know there's someone else underneath the Polyjuice.'

Draco felt himself tense further at the words. Harry had never brought this up before. _Was_ he about to cut things off between them? The thought of it made his heartbeat pound in his chest, and his breathing came faster as he reacted to the shock of the idea. Harry couldn't leave him. Draco had only just gotten him. After all these years of bitter wanting, he finally had something bright and good. He finally had Harry all to himself. He couldn't loose that. Not so soon.

Harry brought a hand up to Draco's face, stroking it in a reassuring gesture. Draco forced himself to focus on that touch as he struggled to pull his breathing back under control.

'But,' Harry said, with an emphasis on the word, 'when I'm with you, it feels perfect. It feels exactly like it always did. It feels like I have my Charlie back.' Harry's face twisted with pain and without even thinking, Draco lifted his head to place a kiss on Harry's forehead. It wasn't until he felt the jagged scar under his lips that he realised what he'd done.

Harry smiled up at Draco, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. 'See, like that. You always do the right thing. I have this weird feeling—' He broke off, huffing out a laugh. 'I have this weird feeling that I know you, and I can trust you. You feel safe to me.'

He looked up at Draco, openness and vulnerability written across his face. In that look, Draco saw everything he'd ever wanted and needed from Harry Potter. He saw a lifetime of love and happiness and acceptance. He saw it and he dove headfirst into it, grasping for it like a Snitch. It wouldn't be hard, not really. He'd always been good at being someone else. 

'You're not stupid,' Draco said, running his fingers gently over Harry's skin. He swallowed, forcing himself to admit the words he'd kept hidden for so long. 'I want this.'

Harry smiled up at him again, and in his face was written a happiness so transparent it was painful. He moved so he was lying on top of Draco, aligning their bodies and their mouths once more.

'Me too,' he whispered as he claimed Draco's soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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